Will you not, brother?" "Promise," said a deep voice in Trenchard's ear. ” “Then perhaps,” she answered, with a new coldness in her tone, “perhaps I really do not care. Her eyes glistened in the darkness—for light was only admitted through a small grated window—like flames, and, as she fixed them on him, their glances seemed to penetrate his very soul. Superstition—you knock into it whichever way you turn. She released her clutch on it as, dizzy with exhaustion, she leaned against the back of the pew and closed her eyes, her fingers grasping out automatically for support.
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